


The Relationship of Dorian Gray and Hetty Merton

by BlueScanner



Category: The Picture of Dorian Gray - Oscar Wilde
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-12-07 01:37:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18228155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueScanner/pseuds/BlueScanner
Summary: A short story written for my senior English lit class following Dorian Gray during his time in Hetty Merton's village and their subsequent parting.





	The Relationship of Dorian Gray and Hetty Merton

**Author's Note:**

> This was a story written for my English class earlier this year (not to brag but I got 100%) and I figured I would upload it here in case anyone wanted Dorian Gray fan fiction about a breakup.

A well-aged woman stood before a well-worn sink in a quite densely packed kitchen, surrounded by storage space and age worn kitchen utensils. She scrubbed away at the grime covering the plates, frowning a sorrowful face to the murky waters. She let out a loud sigh and placed the mostly cleaned plate down upon a counter before turning to face a young girl sitting not too far away. 

“Come now, Hetty. You must help me finish the dishes.” The woman said, hands balled over her hips. “You can not spend your day reading that book.” The torn dish towel she held in one hand dampened her filthy apron against her hip.

“Of course, Mother.” said Hetty, closing the book she held atop her lap. She set it aside before she stood, letting her long white skirt brush against the floor. She quickly tucked a lock of golden hair behind an ear as she made her way across the quaint room towards her mother. 

Hetty was, by all means, a beautiful girl. Her vibrant green eyes were only brightened by her blonde hair. Her face carried a youthful roundness while still managing to appear more beautiful than cute. She had just reached an ideal age to begin the process of marriage, and despite her vast popularity within her village, she remained opposed to the idea much to her mother's dismay. 

“Hetty, dear, have you heard from Elizabeth and Frederick yet?” Her mother asked as the two women got to work scrubbing at the dishes, their elbows bumping occasionally.   
“Yes, Elizabeth sent me a letter inviting me to come visit them any time now as she’s settled in nicely.” Hetty replied, water splashing onto her dress.   
Her mother sighed dreamily. “Frederick is such a lovely man for Elizabeth. Don’t you agree?”

“Yes, I am quite fond of him.”

“Have you given any thought to the men I suggested a few days ago?”

“I have.” Hetty looked away from her mother.

“And?” Her mother inquired, leaning closer to her youngest daughter. 

“They are simply too... simple for me.” 

“Too simple? Hetty, Edward Shaw has shown great interest in you and he would make for such a nice husband.” Her mother drawled on. “He is among the wealthiest of us here, and he is a lovely host.”

“His house is that of a lovely host, Mother.” Hetty sighed rather dramatically. “He is such a bore to talk to.”

“Hetty! Do not say such things. A month or so ago you found his words intriguing. You know very well he is your best option.”

“Hardly.” Hetty paused, holding a dripping dish up in the light. She watched as the dirty water splashed into the sink. “You know of the man I have been speaking to as of late?”  
“Don’t be foolish, girl.” Her mother placed a clean plate on the counter with more force than usual. “That man is doing you no benefit.”

“You have never met him. He is wonderful. He gifted me that book yesterday, it is full of fairy tales that describe beautiful palaces and wealth.”

“Do not confuse the beauty of his gifts for his inner and own beauty. You know nothing of him.” 

“He is beautiful. Everything he does is beautiful.” Hetty resumed her cleaning. “And if you must know, he hardly struggles for money. Quite the opposite.”

“Remind me how long you have known him for?” Her mother began placing clean dishes away in a rickety cabinet. 

“Nearly two weeks now, Mother.”

“And how long until he returns to where he lives?” Her mother inquired.

“Admittedly I had been hoping he would never return and remain here, or if he must go back then he would bring me with him.” Hetty looked out of the window above the sink, her eyes filled with golden dreams. 

“You are blinded. You have no proof of his affluence, Hetty.” Her mother turned to face her daughter. “I want you to do well in life and tying yourself to a man whose wealth and past you do not know are a risk not worth taking.”

“Have you no faith in me? I believe he is akin to a prince from the fairytales he gave me. He is of a higher status, wealthier than I or anyone in this village, and yet he will settle with a faithful girl lower than he.” Hetty pulled the last of the dishes from the water, clean as ever. She handed it to her mother before reaching out to a flower resting in a rather sad vase. “The lilac is dying.”

“As flowers do.” Her mother commented, drying the plate before storing it away. “Perhaps you could pick a new one from Frederick and Elizabeth’s home when you visit them, I do recall her speaking of many flowers including lilacs growing in Fredericks yard.”

“Certainly, Mother.” Hetty smiled, her face glowing with youth. “May I return to my reading?”

“Go on.” Her mother sighed, walking to a different room within the cramped house, leaving Hetty alone. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Oh, Dorian. I can not wait.” Hetty swooned, her hand placed over her chest. “I am nervous yet excited both at the same time.”

“Remember, Hetty, excitement and nervousness are one in the same, and not to be mistaken for two separate emotions.” said Dorian, examining a ruby red apple on a low hanging branch. “It would be entirely acceptable to say that if this apple were to be too excited or nervous it would rot. Just as an excess of any emotion could do the same.” 

Despite not quite understanding what Dorian meant, Hetty was enamored with his words and beauty. The man standing beside her in the orchard was more than two decades her senior, and yet he didn’t look a day older than she. “Where did you learn that from?” 

Dorian smiled softly. “A friend of mine once spoke similar words of the same meaning.” Dorian dropped his hand away from the apple and tilted his head down to the base of the tree, where several rotted, dead apples melted into the vibrant grass, wriggling worms making their way through the flesh. “Yet at the same time a lack of emotion could rot the apple all the same. There is beauty in balance, Hetty.” 

“Very much so.” Hetty nodded her head, the empty basket she held in her hands resting in front of her hips. “We will we leaving after we finish here, no?” Hetty looked up to the man beside her, hope filling her eyes. Dorian looked down upon her with a steady expression, his eyes locked onto the brooch he had gifted her a week ago, the pink sapphire embedded in the golden metal. 

“That is the plan.” 

Hetty slid the basket down her arm and clasped her hands together before her in excitement. The emotion emitted from her, seeping the beauty to the air around her. “Going away together is a large step, Hetty. I should hope it will end well, however keep your mind level. It is not something to be taken lightly.” Dorian gently placed his hand against her shoulder, a brief yet intimate touch. 

“I suppose, I suppose.” 

“What is on your mind?” Dorian inquired, taking in the sudden pensive expression over Hetty’s face. The lines drawn between her brow nearly marred her beauty, drawing Dorian away physically from her. Yet as she spoke, her voice drew him back in. 

“My elder sister Elizabeth was wed not too long ago...” She looked off in the distance behind Dorian. The wind began to pick up, pulling apple blossoms from the trees surrounding them to the air. “And I am of age to be wed soon enough, or so my mother expects me to be.” She looked up hopefully to Dorian, who remained silent.   
“I must ask... Would you...” She steadied her breath and looked at the grass around her skirt. Her downturned face made her youth all the more visible, hiding her troubled and aged expression. “Would it be possible for you to one day marry me?” She looked up, the apple blossoms tumbling against her hair. Dorian watched as the girl’s expression morphed from nervous to giddy, a wide smile spreading over her face. 

“I know it is a large jump to make, and truly saying it aloud sparks silliness within me, however I do think I love you, Dorian.” Her words came out mixed with laughter, a light blush spreading over her pale face. 

In that moment, in which Hetty had never looked more beautiful, Dorian felt a change of heart. His mind was set on the words he spoke. “Hetty. You will not understand my reasons now, or possibly ever, however you must remember I have only your best interests at heart.”

Hetty blinked in response, her expression frozen in joy. “Pardon?”

“I must leave you as you are. You belong here, in the country.” Dorian spoke calmly. 

“Dorian, I don’t understand what you mean.” Hetty’s face began to fall, her shoulders rising to her neck in discomfort. 

“You are better off staying here, as you are. The water here has made you grow to the beautiful young woman you are, and taking you from it may drive you to wilt and falter.” Dorian shook his head. “I can not accept that.” 

“But Dorian, I want to come with you to London. I will not wilt, I am not a flower.” Hetty began to beg, tears brimming at her eyes. “You can not leave me here, I must come to London with you.” 

“Your internal desire has no effect on what is best for you.” Dorian spoke in a condescending manner, an air of wisdom in direct contradiction to his young face, having clearly experienced nothing to make him wise or anything of the sort. 

Tears began to flow down Hetty’s cheeks, the wind continuing to blow apple blossoms against her body, her skirt billowing at her ankles. “Are you... Returning to London alone?” She spoke, her voice wavering. 

“Yes.” Dorian’s voice was quite the opposite. 

“Will you at least keep in correspondence with me? Send letters? Please, Dorian, I beg of you.” Hetty dropped the empty basket to the ground, her hands trembling. The emotion that contorted her face made her look older than Dorian for a moment. He sighed, already seeing his negative influence. 

“I can not. It will be best for you to never hear from me again.” Dorian took a step back. “You will be more pleased here, living the life you were brought up to live. Please, Hetty. Take this as well as you can and keep your face strong and beautiful for me. I would wish that the last memory I have of you serves well to your youth and beauty.”

Hetty was at a loss for words, each attempt at speaking only resulted in dry, almost cough like sounds. She watched with pain as Dorian walked away, his back turned to her as he exited the orchard. There was nothing more she could say to convince him to stay, and even if she could conjure up anything in her mind, she was unable to speak a simple word, let alone a sentence begging him to stay with her. 

She collapsed to the ground, her dress bunching around her form as she lay against the cool grass. It was as if her legs had simply given out, seeing no reason to put energy to have her stand and watch her love leave without her. Deep within her heart she felt she had been ruined. Heartbreak or no, the feeling she felt was all too real. No man could ever live up to Dorian Gray. 

No country man, however wealthy or entertaining he may be, would have Dorian’s beauty, his charm, his innocence. No man of his age could appear to have done nothing wrong. Hetty could not find it within herself to hate Dorian. Through her pain she began to feel that he knew more than she, and that she could trust anything that came from his lips, no matter how torturous it may be. 

The most pain she felt came from the knowledge that Dorian would never know the form he left limp in the grass, he would never understand what she felt. He had left her with a taste of higher society and ripped it away from her all too fast, just as she became accustomed to it. But this was the way of Dorian Gray, and Hetty would never truly grasp the trap she had fallen into earlier that warm May.


End file.
